Page 44 of Moments of Truth
Would she ever truly comprehend the depth of his character? The question lingered, unresolved, as mysterious as Mr. Darcy himself. For the moment, however, Elizabeth resolved to set it aside, to savour the blessing of repose and the tender society of those who loved her best.
Since the hour was already advanced, Mrs. Gardiner at length gathered her little ones, whose bright chatter was yielding to yawns and drooping eyelids. With gentle persuasion she led them upstairs for their rest, their pattering feet soon fading into silence above.
Watching them depart, Maria Lucas stretched her arms and covered a yawn with her hand. “You know,” she said, with a sleepy smile, “I think a nap might be just what I need. I hardly realised how tired I was until I sat still.”
Elizabeth smiled indulgently. “It is an excellent plan, Maria. A little rest may do you good.”
Maria assented readily and withdrew to the room reserved for her, leaving Elizabeth and Jane at last alone.
The elder sister, perceiving both her sister’s hesitation and her need to speak, leaned forward with affectionate earnestness.
“Lizzy,” she said softly, “I think it is time you tell me what lies so heavily upon your mind.”
Elizabeth hesitated, torn between prudence and the longing to confide.
At length she drew a breath and began, her voice quiet, almost uncertain.
“It was near Easter—three weeks after I had come to Hunsford—that matters began to change. Until then, all had gone on smoothly enough. Twice a week we dined at Rosings, sometimes more, and Lady de Bourgh would often summon us for tea. It was then I learnt that her nephews—Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam—were expected. Had it been in my power, I would have quitted Kent at once, for I dreaded the very idea of such a meeting. Yet I persuaded myself that in the presence of his family, even Mr. Darcy might lay aside his arrogance and pride. Besides, his cousin, the Colonel, proved to be a most amiable and pleasant gentleman.”
Jane listened with grave attention, her countenance betraying both wonder and concern, while Elizabeth’s eyes grew more thoughtful and distant.
“But when they arrived,” she continued, “I found avoidance nearly impossible. Lady Catherine commanded our attendance at Rosings more frequently than ever, and Mr. Darcy was often present. He watched me—oh, Jane, with such an inscrutable expression—that I could neither divine his purpose nor escape his gaze.”
Elizabeth’s voice softened, and she glanced at Jane as though seeking her sister’s reassurance before venturing further.
“One afternoon, after returning from a walk in the park with Colonel Fitzwilliam—a most engaging man, lively in conversation and kind in manner—I received an unexpected visitor. The Collinses and Maria had gone to Rosings, but I had chosen to remain behind, for the Colonel had let fall, almost by accident, a piece of unwelcome news that weighed heavily upon me. In that quiet moment, Mr. Darcy called. He seemed altered—restless, agitated, as though some great struggle was at work within him. At first, he inquired after my health with a solicitude that surprised me, and then—without prelude—he confessed to deep and ardent feelings, and offered me his hand. It was so sudden, so unlooked for, and so coloured by pride and presumption, that it struck me as if he had imagined it a condescension, a favour bestowed.”
Jane’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Oh, Lizzy, I had no idea…”
Elizabeth nodded, her countenance a mixture of frustration and sorrow.
“I rejected him, of course. I spoke with the utmost frankness of what I thought of his conduct—his interference in your happiness with Mr. Bingley, so unguardedly betrayed by the Colonel’s careless words, and his supposed cruelty, as I then believed it, towards Mr. Wickham.
” I told him everything I had held against him, with a vehemence I scarcely recognised in myself.
But the following morning, he crossed my path while I was walking, and placed in my hand a letter.
In it were explanations—his account of both those charges, laid bare in the clearest terms. Every word compelled me to re-examine what I had so readily condemned. ”
Jane’s countenance softened with tender sympathy, and she reached out to clasp her sister’s hand. “I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been for you, dearest Lizzy.”
Elizabeth returned the pressure of her hand, gratitude shining through her fatigue.
“It was a shock beyond anything I had expected. And yet, in reading his words, I could not help but see the sincerity of his purpose. It made me doubt my own judgment—made me wonder whether I had been too rash, too quick to condemn. I have turned his letter over in my mind again and again, striving to reconcile the proud, taciturn man I thought him with the honourable spirit that spoke in those lines.”
Jane nodded thoughtfully, her voice hushed. “It seems Mr. Darcy has given you much to consider.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth admitted, almost in a whisper. “And I find myself torn, uncertain what to feel. That is what has weighed upon me, Jane. I cannot yet give it a name, but I felt you must know the truth.”
Jane’s lips curved in a gentle smile. “Thank you for trusting me, Lizzy. Whatever the outcome, I am certain you will choose wisely—and remember, I shall always stand beside you.”
Elizabeth’s heart eased at her sister’s affection. “That means more to me than you can imagine.”
Just then, Aunt Gardiner re-entered the parlour, her expression half-playful, half-curious, as if she sensed she had missed something of consequence. Jane, with an affectionate glance at her sister, said, “Lizzy has just been confiding in me, Aunt.”
“Again. You mean to say important confidences have been shared in my absence?” Mrs. Gardiner teased, her eyes alight.
“You must forgive us, Aunt,” Jane interposed, smiling. “Lizzy has been waiting for some time to unburden herself.”
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head with mock severity, then laughed. “Very well, you are forgiven. But perhaps you should wait for your uncle to join us—there may be further news to share. Indeed,” she added, pausing, “I think I hear his curricle this moment.”
Elizabeth grew pensive, her brow shadowed. “I hardly know whether what awaits is good news or ill.”
“Why do you say so, my dear?” Mrs. Gardiner asked, intrigued.
Her question was cut short by Mr. Gardiner’s cheerful entrance. “Good afternoon, ladies! Lizzy, what a delight to have you under our roof again. I trust your journey was tolerably comfortable?”
Elizabeth rose to embrace him warmly. “It is always joy to see you, Uncle, and yes—the journey was as pleasant as such a distance may be.”
“Well,” said he, drawing a folded letter from his pocket with a smile, “since I arrived home at the same moment as the postman, it is only right I should deliver this without delay. I believe it may concern you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth accepted it, her heart fluttering violently as she broke the seal.
The room fell to silence as her eyes travelled down the page, her expression shifting from surprise to gravity, until she looked up at last. “It is from my father,” she said steadily.
“Mr. Darcy called at Longbourn yesterday. He asked Papa for permission to court me—and my father has given his consent. He writes further that Mr. Darcy wished me to receive his explanations in full, that I might judge him fairly.”
Jane and her aunt exchanged astonished glances, delight mingling with amazement. “My dear girl,” Aunt Gardiner said warmly, “you have indeed a tale to unfold, and we shall all be eager listeners.”
Elizabeth nodded, her emotions caught between nervousness and relief. “Yes, Aunt. It seems I must.”
Mr. Gardiner, his eyes twinkling, cleared his throat.
“But before you begin, there is yet another letter. This one addressed to me, though it touches one dear to us all.” He unfolded the sheet again, his smile broadening.
“It contains a request for permission to call this evening. Ladies, I believe we may look forward to receiving Mr. Charles Bingley.”
***
The Gardiners’ dining room had that air of peaceful order which speaks of good sense and good taste rather than ostentation.
Candlelight wove small halos upon the crystal; silver answered with a soft lustre; a bowl of hothouse flowers breathed a discreet fragrance.
Elizabeth, seated opposite her aunt, felt an anticipatory flutter quite at variance with her accustomed composure.
If he should look at Jane as he once did—if he should not— she checked the thought, and in the very act Mr. Bingley was shown in.
He entered with the unstudied eagerness that made him instantly amiable. His bow to Mrs. Gardiner was grateful, to Mr. Gardiner respectful; but when his eyes found Jane, all ceremony fell away. “Miss Bennet,” he said, and the two words contained a world of apology and longing.
Jane’s colour rose, yet she stood her ground with gentle grace. “Mr. Bingley. We are happy to see you in Gracechurch Street.”
“I—yes—thank you,” he managed, then laughed softly at himself. “You see how ill a fellow I am at beginning. London improves daily, ma’am,” he told Mrs. Gardiner, “for it contains those whom I most wished to see.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes twinkled. “London must count that among its proudest boasts, sir. You are very welcome.”